


Dr. Fumbles McStupid's Best Political Cousin

by sheafrotherdon



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-09-17
Updated: 2008-09-17
Packaged: 2017-10-12 01:09:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/119130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sheafrotherdon/pseuds/sheafrotherdon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rodney has been monitoring the American election, and he's at his wit's end.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dr. Fumbles McStupid's Best Political Cousin

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd by the lovely Dogeared! If you do not support or sympathize with Democratic politics / Obama, DO NOT READ THIS FIC. You will not like it. Thank you.

"Okay, that is _it_ ," Rodney yelled, storming into John's quarters, pointing a finger directly in John's face. "Get your country _under control_."

John raised an eyebrow. "Not exactly my call, buddy."

"Well, _someone_ better do something," Rodney snapped, pacing a familiar path back and forth past the bottom of John's bed.

John sipped his beer. "About?" he ventured.

"The _election_?" Rodney offered witheringly. "Did you read the email I sent you?"

"With the, uh . . ." John wrinkled his nose. "Links?"

"Yes! Exactly! Links to major newspapers from the lower – and _oh_ , that designation has never been so apt – forty-eight detailing the ways in which your political system is trying to _escort us all to hell_."

"Hey," John drawled. "It's not _mine_. I didn't, you know – make it." He drank more beer. "Plus, you don't believe in hell."

"Oh, yes I do," Rodney said bitterly. "I am living in it. I am living _through_ it. John _fucking_ McCain is . . ."

John smirked. This was going to be entertaining. "What'd he do now?"

Rodney came to a quick halt and folded his arms, tilted his chin. "He picked his vice-presidential nominee, did you hear?"

"Governor of Alaska," John nodded.

"She," Rodney said, quivering with pent up energy, "is a _creationist_."

John winced. "Ouch."

"A creationist! The world is oh, I don't know, seven thousand years old! The fossil record? Made up! Because of all the things deities have to do, _fucking with geologic strata_ is right at the top of their list. I know if _I_ had divine power I'd be molding old shit out of galactic modeling clay and spraying it with Ye Olde Crap and, oh, I don't know, _faking carbon dating_ so that no one caught on."

John nodded sagely. "Well, no one's found any missing links, you know . . . "

Rodney turned puce. "YET. Do you _know_ what fraction of the natural world actually makes it to a fossilized state?"

John shrugged. "Half a dozen lizard things a year?"

"You are . . ." Rodney grimaced valiantly and flipped him off. "And here's the thing – she gets to be President if McCain dies. If he dies! He's seventy-two years old with a history of skin cancer! What happens when he finds out his security problems are a little bigger than what happens in Georgia? He'll hear about the Ori, freak the hell out, keel over, and then in comes Tina Fey!"

John squinted. "You know about Tina Fey?"

Rodney shifted uncomfortably. "She's very intelligent, hot, and wears glasses. Of course I do."

"Figures." John took a pull from his beer.

"But then - _then_ comes the good part, because then _Tina_ \- "

"Sarah."

" – _Governor Palin_ gets briefed on _all the shit the Bible left out_ and it's all too much for her sense of order, she loses her mind, kicks the bucket, and the Secretary of State's in charge. Who, considering the other choices McCain's made, will probably be Bill Schmucknuts, a dogcatcher from _Boise, Idaho_!"

"Hey," John frowned. "I dated a guy from Boise, Idaho."

"Was his name Bill Schmucknuts?" Rodney asked.

"Kenny."

Rodney stared at him. "Right. And. As I was saying . . . "

John gestured with his beer. "Carry on."

"He believes the economy is strong," Rodney said, somewhat desperately. "Despite the government having to bail out four, five major financial institutions in the last _month_ which – call me crazy! – is not an advertisement for the success of deregulation but rather for _socialism!_ "

"Heh." John snorted into his beer. "You said socialism."

Rodney walked over and flicked him in the forehead.

"Hey," John whined.

"He hasn't ruled out invading Iran, which apparently he's going to undertake with magical mystery soldiers, because god knows where else he's going to get them, and that's before he finds out he's fighting five or six wars with various _alien species_."

"But," John said, "he does have some cool space guns he doesn't know about yet."

" _He can't work a Blackberry_!"' Rodney yelled.

"Point."

"And he opposes Roe v. Wade! Which, admittedly has very little to do with space guns or aliens, but is just plain creepy since he's – god, an old, old, white man and he wants to get personal with how many uteri?"

John pulled a face. "He should probably just – "

" _Let them choose for themselves?_ Amazing thought. And he thinks all the sex we're having is depraved."

"Well, it is," John leered.

"He doesn't mean it in a _good_ way," Rodney pointed out. "He's hardly going to institute national free dildo day in our honor!"

"Is anyone?" John asked. "Because I would absolutely vote for – "

"So would I," Rodney sighed, flopping down on the couch beside him. "God. Why is everyone so _stupid_?"

John passed him his beer. "Obama's smart."

"Well, yes, exceptions made for him and his phenomenal wife, who I bet ten to one has the gene, because, well, stands to reason."

"Someone has a cruuuu-uuuush . . ."

"Of course I have a crush! She's fantastic! She could kick my ass!"

John nodded thoughtfully. "She and Teyla would make such a team."

"Well, yes, much as I'd like to see that, I'd prefer she was First Lady, considering that would mean the Earth wasn't _doomed_." He sighed. "And it'd be especially satisfying if she'd consider greeting every head of state with a 'fist jab' just so the talking heads froth themselves into puddles of incomprehensible right-wing ectoplasm, muttering 'Lipstick! Pig! Sexism! Nooooo!' as they melt."

John snorted softly. "That'd be cool," he agreed a little reverently.

"And yet 50% of the people answering polls right now say _they plan to vote for the old, stupid man_. Even I had imagined that the American public had _had its fill_ of imbecilic behavior after the last eight years."

"He pays you, you know. That guy. The President."

"I have actually requested that my salary come from Canadian sources, only," Rodney sniffed.

"He pays me."

"Well then we should have a lot more sex while you're on duty. In protest." Rodney pulled at John's beer. "I can't stand it. Really. I can't. It's too horrifying to contemplate." He drank again.

"And yet here you are, contemplating," John pointed out.

"Shut up."

"You shut up."

"I told you first."

John grinned. "We could go to an Atlanteans for Obama meeting."

Rodney narrowed his eyes. "We have those?"

"Sure. We stuff envelopes. Crack mean jokes. You know."

"Has everyone registered to vote by mail?"

"Course." John took his beer back and finished it. "Weeks ago. Far as the feds go, we're all stationed in, I don't know. Bangkok."

"Good." Rodney lifted his chin. "Good."

"Wanna make out?"

"No," Rodney said. "You're not on duty. No one will be paying you for being depraved."

John scratched his nose. "I dunno. Sarah Palin's praying we go straight, so . . ."

"Oh, well." Rodney glanced at him. "If someone's praying for our souls I suppose . . ."

"Be downright mean to take away their faith . . . thing," John nodded.

Rodney hummed. "Cruel."

"Exactly."

Rodney shifted and climbed over him to straddle his lap. "Driving the prudes crazy with sex it's . . . dessert, of a sort."

John smirked. "I got whipped cream if you . . . " His words were muffled by an extremely un-heterosexual kiss. "Or, you know . . ." And he gave up on talking in favor of muffling Rodney's words right back.


End file.
